It’s been a while now since I saw the lights in the abandoned factory.
The gate and the doors are open.
I sneak in.
Guard: prolonging a winter nap.
Always hungry for a tender hands dog: well rested, wagging its tail.
Factory hall: all in leaves. Drawn, splilled, cutted out.
– These are merely the sketches – whispers someone visibly intimidated by my presence:
– There’re still lots of parameters to be checked.
Shimmeringness. Shadowness. Blowindness. Uniqueness. Beauty.
– Beauty – I repeat to myself to remember the details.
– We’ll soon hang them all over the city. And the forest. Ah! It will be magnificent! –
so far timid Leafmaster becomes visibly dreamy:
– Those in loved will step out of the wardrobes.
